


Second Chances

by Greysgate



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-04
Updated: 2018-06-04
Packaged: 2019-05-18 04:25:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14845667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Greysgate/pseuds/Greysgate
Summary: Following Daniel's ascension, Jack visits an old friend and longs for a second chance.Originally published under the pen name Grace St. James.





	Second Chances

**Author's Note:**

> Original character POV

“Wake up, Lazy Bones. Ya got company.” 

That familiar voice filtered into my consciousness through a haze of sleep, and I willed my heavy eyelids to open. It was Jack, all right. And he was not seeing me at my best. Still, I was expecting him today. I’d been getting ready for this visit for months. 

“Thanks for coming,” I told him, reaching out for a welcome hug. 

“I could never resist an invitation from you. I mean, the whole world hangs on every word Jill Waite writes.” 

I shrugged and grinned at him. “But that’s not who issued the invitation.” 

“And Katie Hennessy remains safely anonymous, while the world waits for another blockbuster novel.” He sat down on the sofa across from my chair. “I hear they’re making your first book into a movie now. And it’s about damned time! So why’d you drop out of sight?” 

“Personal choice,” I told him gently. I wanted to work up to things slowly. 

He shook his head, the silver in his hair winking in the soft light from the reading lamp. “So who’s the young studly type who let me in?” He glanced at my left hand and smiled when he saw the gold ring. “You didn’t get married without telling me, did you, Katie?” 

“No, Jack. If I ever got married, you’d _most certainly_ have been there.” I held up my left hand and gazed fondly at my ring. “This is just a reminder.” 

“Of what?” 

“A promise I made to myself, long ago.” I didn’t look at him right away, because I knew it would make him uncomfortable. “So how are things with you?” 

“Different,” he said quietly, looking at the floor, then at his hands in his lap. 

 “Someone died,” I guessed. I’d felt it, of course. Dreamed about it. That’s the way I am, and Jack knows it. That’s one reason why he comes to me. I searched back through my memory and saw a face framed by brown hair, dominated by big blue eyes. “He wore glasses.” 

“Daniel,” he confirmed. “I don’t know how you _do_ that, Katie! You should let people study you.” 

“Don’t want to be a lab rat, thanks.” 

“Yeah.” Still looking at his hands. 

He grew quiet. Normally I’d have been pushing him, goading him into anger to get the process started, challenging him with little barbs about what he could have/should have done. Not _this_ time, though. Things are different this time. 

“It’s been… Things have changed, Jack. For both of us.” I let that hang, daring him to move past it. He still wrote to me, once a season, as he’d done for twenty years. They weren’t letters, really; more like little journals he kept his thoughts in, to pass on to me. A handful of my own books had come out of those diaries, and he’d been surprised at the first one. Touched, pleased and surprised that I’d have found something worthwhile in his mind and heart to carry an entire book. 

He notices. “What’s wrong, Katie?” He looked up at me with those eyes so filled with sorrow and longing… 

He’s broken my heart all over again. I wanted to get up and run to him, take him in my arms and cry, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t. He doesn’t need my pain added to his own. He doesn’t _need_ my truth. But he has to carry it anyway, because I owe him that. 

This visit was different from all the others. During the course of his marriage he had stayed away, but as soon as the divorce papers were signed, he’d come back, hunting me up to push him into a corner and force him to exorcise his demons. I was always good at that, at making him bleed until the anger and pain drained away. But not this time. 

“We’ll get to that,” I tell him quietly. “Don’t you want to talk about Daniel?” 

“I loved him.” 

_There_. That was easier than it had ever been before. Made me wonder why. “I know how hard that was for you to say, Jack. Did you get a chance to tell to Daniel before he died?” 

He smooshed his lips together in a frown. “No. But I think he knew. He was brave about dying. But then, he was brave about living, too. Nice kid. Should’ve had a longer, simpler life.” 

“He worked with you,” I guessed. Jack had never been able to tell me much about what he did over the last several years, since the Air Force called him back to active duty. Something to do with anti-terrorist missions, I thought. But then, my dreams had been bizarre lately. I considered the possibility that there’s more to it that he will ever be able to discuss, but I won’t ask those questions of him. He knows I won’t. 

“There was a… nuclear accident. Radiation poisoning. He got a lethal dose, saving some people’s lives. He didn’t even know ‘em.” 

“And you don’t die right away from that,” I added, pulling that information from the vast store of technical data stored in my writer’s brain. “It takes a while. And it’s a bad way to go.” 

He nodded. There were tears in his eyes. He wasn’t going to let them fall, though. That’s _not_ Jack. _Nobody_ gets tears from him. 

Not even _Charlie_. 

Not until I made him let go, years back. 

But I couldn’t do that this time. “I’m sorry,” I told him, and meant it. I caught a glimpse of Paolo, my assistant, passing by the doorway to my sitting room, and called to him. 

“Paolo, please bring the Colonel a beer.” He nodded and started away on his mission. 

“Thanks, Paolo, but I’ll pass,” Jack called. “Coffee would be nice, though.” 

Now it was my turn to be surprised. “You’re turning down a _beer_? Jeez, Jack, is the world coming to an end or something?” 

The look on his face just then made my blood run cold. A flurry of dream-images came to mind – space ships, Egyptian gods and weapons that made lightning. Maybe it wasn’t dreams. Maybe the strange link I’ve had to Jack’s life has been showing me things I’m not supposed to know. 

“Oh, my God!” I whispered, eyes widening. “It is, isn’t it?” 

“I didn’t come to talk about… things I can’t talk about,” he murmured. “I came to try to salvage something important, Katie.” He made eye contact. “I’ve shut too many doors in my past that should have stayed open. You’re the only constant I’ve had, my north star. I don’t want to lose you, and I’m afraid it’s already started to happen.” 

He looked away from me then, his beautiful brown eyes scanning the room for familiar things. He sought out the bookcase full of my published novels, the writing awards framed on my walls. Then he saw the collection of photos on top of the television and went over to look at them. He picked up the one of us, the first one that the newspapers published after he rescued me. He held it in his hands for a long time, just looking down at it. 

“You really love me, don’t you?” he asked softly. “You have since we first met.” 

In a haze of smoke and fire, filled with the scent of diesel, I’d seen his face in the blackness, covered in soot. The accident had happened so fast – a tanker truck filled with diesel fuel overturned on my parents’ car. My father was killed instantly, but the metal vehicles skidding on the pavement struck sparks that set the spilling fuel on fire. There had been only seconds to live, and suddenly Corporal Jack O’Neill was there in my window, slicing through my seat belt and hauling me out of the car. He went back for my mother and got her out, too, but she died later at the hospital. I was thirteen years old, and he was twenty-five. 

“You’ve always known,” I reminded him gently, ever so gently. I did not look at the ring on my left hand, but felt its weight comforting me, encircling my finger as it had for so many years. 

He put the photo back and picked up others of us, taken here and there over the years at our reunions. Every year on the date he rescued me, he sends me a card. A birthday card, even though he knows it’s not my real birthday. He’d told me it was a second chance, being re-born into a more vibrant life, colored by a brush with death that would forever change me, and he’d been right. I haven’t been the same since that day. He called it my Re-birthday. 

Not until a second brush with death changed my world again, painting it black and taking all the colors away. As I looked at the man I had loved all my life, I felt only a tiny spark of that grand passion. I’ve just been waiting for what lies so close down the path to finally arrive. I pushed the blanket covering me down to my waist and stretched a little, waking up at last. 

“Not really,” he returned. “I thought it was just infatuation. Or friendship. I thought you’d get over it.” 

I didn’t reply, because it didn’t matter any more. Then he picked up another picture. One I wish he hadn’t seen. 

“Cute kid,” he observed. 

“Her name was Jacqueline,” I told him, swallowing down a lump in my throat. I had promised myself not cry. “She belonged to a friend of mine. Passed away years ago.” 

“I’m sorry,” he replied automatically. Then he picked up another picture of Jackie, and another, and another. He was studying them. He was thinking. 

“Which friend?” he asked. 

That startled me out of my train of thought, and for a moment I didn’t know what to say. “You don’t know them,” I assured him. 

“I don’t see any pictures up here except of us,” he tells me softly. “And of Jackie. That’s what you called, her, isn’t it?” 

Oh, God. _He knew._ Tears filled my eyes, and the memories filled my heart, till it felt as if I was going to burst. I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t tell him. I looked away from his watery image to the fireplace and struggled to get my emotions under control. 

“Why didn’t you _tell_ me, Katie?” 

I was struggling just to breathe. There was no way I could talk to him now. 

Paolo stepped in the door with a cup of coffee in his hand, and broke the tension. He set the cup down without a word and glanced at me. “Time for your therapy, Miss Hennessy,” he reminded me. 

“I’ll pass on it today, thank you.” I tried to smile at him. “I have a guest.” 

“Colonel O’Neill can wait,” he argued gently. “Your doctor says—“ 

“No, Paolo,” I snapped sharply. “I don’t _want_ therapy today. There’s no point.” 

I could see the disappointment in his eyes. He left the room quietly, and Jack pinned me to my chair with his eyes. 

“ _What_ therapy?” he demanded. “ _What_ doctor? Tell me what’s going on, Katie.” 

“Have a seat, Jack,” I ordered. I was upset then, trying hard to hold onto my emotions, riding a roller coaster that I couldn’t get off. When he was settled, I pulled the blanket off my lap and let it drape on the side of my recliner. 

His eyes went to my legs, clad in loose satin pajama pants that delineated every curve and revealed how emaciated they had become, how twisted and ugly. 

I could see the horror there, the enormous swell of pity rising up in him. I looked away, at the blanket, and pretended to pick fuzz off the soft fabric so I wouldn’t have to see that. It was time. I took a deep breath and told him. 

“About a year ago, a stalker broke into my house in LA. He—“ 

I sucked in a deep breath as the memories flooded in. 

_It’s just another story,_ I reminded myself. _Take yourself out of it._

Voice trembling, I opened my eyes and worked to dissociate myself from the words. “He attacked me. Severed my spinal cord. I was on the floor of my kitchen for fourteen hours until my maid found me.” 

“Oh, my God.” He buried his face in his hands. When he looked up again, his eyes were wounded. “Why didn’t you _call_ me, Katie? I’d have taken time off. I’d have come to you.” 

How I loved him in that moment! I could envision it in my mind’s eye, my hero rushing to my bedside to offer me his heart. But that wasn’t how I wanted it. I didn’t want to win his heart with pity. 

“I know,” I told him. “But there was nothing you could do for me.” 

He looked stricken, as if I’d just torn his heart out by the roots. He was reeling with pain. _My_ pain. 

“Tell me about Jackie.” 

“That was a long time ago, Jack. Just let it go. Don’t unbury the dead.” 

“I have to _know_ , Katie.” 

I sighed, knowing he was right. I should have told him a long time ago, but I couldn’t hurt him like that. I didn’t want to hurt him at all, but I knew that was going to be my last gift to him – a trail of endless pain. 

“You remember my twenty-first birthday.” 

He lifted his head and made eye contact. I saw him swallow a lump in his throat and nod. Guilt crept into his eyes, and took up residence. 

He’d been a married man then, and I had seduced him. Just that once. My first and only time to be with a man. 

The wedding ring I wore on my finger was my commitment to that memory. For me, there had never been anyone else but Jack O’Neill. But for him, it was another story. He couldn’t look at me the way he did other women. 

“Jackie was born from that,” I admitted. “I chose not to tell you, because it would have caused you and your family pain. You had Charlie, and I wasn’t sure at first, after we made love, if I’d ever see you again.” 

He’d stopped writing me letters after that. It was months later that I received the first of the little notebooks he always kept with him, jotting down little bits of wisdom, joy and pain to share with me. I glanced up at my bookshelf and smiled at them, slipped neatly beside the books they had inspired. 

He struggled to speak, swallowing several times before growling out his next question. “What happened to her?” 

“Pneumonia. When she was two.” The memories of the hospital ward were blunt-edged now, but still hurt. “She was allergic to the only medicines that could have helped her.” 

“And you never told me.” He rose and strolled around the room again, hands in his pockets. “Not even when Charlie died.” 

“Why compound your sorrow with more grief?” I asked him gently. 

“So tell me the rest.” He came over to my chair and squatted down beside it. He put his hand on my arm, so warm and strong, and stroked me. “I know there’s more. There’s a reason you’re telling me all this now. Drop the other shoe already, Katie.” 

“There’s a package for you in the desk drawer,” I told him, nodding toward my writing desk by the patio doors. 

Mechanically, he went over to it and opened the drawer. Reaching inside, he lifted out the small, flat package wrapped in brown paper, decorated with Chinese calligraphy and tied with a gold foil bow. He returned to the sofa and sat down, balancing the box on his knee. 

“Tell me the rest.” 

“Open the package, Jack.” 

He did. He was slow about it, careful, savoring it or dreading it. I wasn’t sure which. 

He looked at the pristine navy velvet-covered journal embossed with gold filigree and ran his fingertips over it appreciatively. Shifting it to one side, he saw that there was a second one underneath it, but the red velvet was worn in several places, and the pages were wrinkled from use. Opening the first one, he saw that the pages were blank, but inside there was a photograph of a teenage boy. 

He had brown hair and big blue eyes, and wore glasses. 

“Who’s this?” 

“Someone in need of a hero,” I answered. “I met him in the hospital last year. We became good friends, and I promised I’d look after him, like you did for me.” 

His eyes moved up to mine then. They were warm and aching and sad. “I should have done things differently, Katie,” he told me. “I just couldn’t… You were _so_ young…” 

“And you were a married man who never saw me as anything but that helpless little girl you pulled out of a burning car,” I finished for him. “I know, Jack. I’ve _always_ understood that. I think you must have thought I saw you as something larger than life, some kind of superhero. That’s why you were always trying to show me your faults. But I _got_ it. I knew _exactly_ who you were, and I loved you in spite of that, or maybe _because_ you weren’t perfect.” 

Tears filled my eyes, and I blinked them away. My throat hurt. And then suddenly he was at my side, slipping his arms beneath me and carrying me over to the couch. He arranged me in his lap, making sure my useless legs were stretched out on the cushions beside him. 

_He was so close, so warm…  
_

“I always thought you deserved somebody better than me,” he admitted hoarsely. “That’s why I walked away from you, Kate. You were this amazing person with a gift to look inside people, to shake them up and make them see themselves in a whole new way. I didn’t want you wasting your love on me.” 

He pulled me close, snuggling me up against his shoulder. “And after that time when we… when we made love… I _knew_ I shouldn’t have touched you. Being drunk was an excuse I used to get me there, but I knew _exactly_ what I was doing.” 

“I know.” 

He closed his eyes and held me tighter. “I know you did. I gave you everything I had that night, Kate. Everything I was. Because I knew it would never happen again.” 

“You had to go back to your family.” 

He nodded, his breathing rough and harsh with anguish. “But I thought… I believed that, if anything happened, you’d have told me. Guess I was wrong about that.” 

“It was _my_ turn to protect _you_ , Jack.” I shuddered a deep breath. “You’d have left them for me, and Charlie needed you. Jackie didn’t miss what she never had.” 

He was trembling, rocking me like a wounded child. He turned to me, eyes closed, and found my mouth by instinct. “I’m sorry,” he breathed between desperate kisses. “God, Katie, I’m so sorry.” 

His hand clasped my cheek, stroked through my hair, over my shoulder and down my back. My body felt electric beneath his touch, and my grief melted away. His hand smoothed over my breast, and he pulled away, staring down into my eyes. 

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he breathed. “Can we…?” 

“Yes,” I assured him, delirious with desire. I wouldn’t feel much of what he was going to do, but I’d see him as he made love to me, and that was all that mattered. “My bedroom’s through that door.” 

Hours later, we lay in my bed, wrapped in each other’s arms. Parts of me were tingling from the passionate attention Jack had lavished on my body. Other parts were numb but well used, and my mind was sated and happy. For a long time I just lay there, thinking he was sleeping, but when I moved my head off his chest, I saw that his eyes were open and he was staring at the ceiling. 

“I’ll be right back,” he promised, and stepped into his trousers long enough to fetch his present from the next room. Locking the door behind him, he skinned off his pants and climbed back under the covers with me. He laid the blank journal aside and opened the used one and began to read. 

After one paragraph, he closed it and laid it aside. He picked up the blank journal and opened it to the photograph. “Why are you giving this to me?” 

I rolled onto my back, aware that my legs didn’t follow, but ignoring them. This was it. The hard part was just beginning. “Because he needs a hero,” I said softly, “so I promised him he could have mine.” 

Like the intelligent man that he is, Jack opened the red journal, the one I had kept my most secret thoughts to him in, and turned to the back pages. He thumbed back several pages, till he found the shaky handwriting from that terrible day nearly a year past. I closed my eyes and listened to his breathing. 

That would tell me enough. 

I heard it hitch. I heard it strain. I heard it shudder in his chest. And then I heard the journal fly across the room and impact against the wall. I opened my eyes in time to see him jam his legs into his trousers and zip up his fly. He stormed out the patio door, flinging it open so hard the glass cracked. When he was twenty feet from the house, bare feet against the green lawn, he started shouting. 

Most of it I couldn’t make out, except for the occasional curse word. I pushed my body into a sitting position so I could see him, and watched as he stomped around the yard. He bent down to pick up a rock from the landscaping, and violently flung it skyward, followed by several more. A yelp of pain made me call out for him, looking around for some way to reach him, but there was none. I wouldn’t let him see me crawling on the floor, so I had no choice but to wait for him to come back to me. 

He stumbled back to the bedroom, holding his right shoulder with his left hand. “I think I hurt myself,” he grimaced. 

“What were you doing out there?” I asked, reaching for him as he sat on the side of the bed. 

“Throwin’ rocks at God,” he growled. “Son of a bitch’s taken _too much_ away from me and I want it to fuckin’ _STOP!”_ His last word was an anguished shout. 

“God didn’t do this,” I admonished gently. “Things happen for a reason. The way I look at it…” I made him look at me, and smiled. “…I got twenty extra years I wasn’t supposed to have. And I got you, too.” 

“But, Katie…” He pulled me into his arms and held on for dear life. “I don’t want to let you go. _I_ need a second chance.” 

For a moment, I just let him hold me. Then, as gently as I could manage, I made him relax a little and let me sit back enough to see his face. “That’s why I invited you here, Jack. For a second chance. I don’t get to have one, because what I got out of life was enough for me.” 

I slipped out of his grasp enough to reach for the blue journal. Flipping it open with finger and thumb, I pulled out the photograph and handed it to him. 

“You see, I won’t be able to keep my promise to this boy. I’m dying, and I need you to carry the torch for me.” 

“Tell me about this disease,” he ordered hotly. “What doctors have you seen? Are there any new treatments—“

“Jack.” He was trying so hard to be the warrior he was. He needed something to fight, some physical entity he could conquer for me. But this time, there wasn’t one. “They discovered it by accident during the surgery to try to repair my spinal cord. I’ve been through the treatments and the doctors, read all the information on experimental remedies, and it’s too late. This is end stage.” I sighed. “Paolo is a hospice nurse. He’s here to help me while I can still function. But it won’t be too much longer now, and I’ll be back in the hospital for the last time.” 

“No.” He threw the photo across the bed with a slash of his hand. It fluttered up in the air, flipped around and sailed through the air to land in his lap. “You’re _not_ gonna die, Katie! I won’t let you.” 

He grimaced. He bowed his head, his hands coming up on either side of his face. His eyes screwed tightly closed. “No, please, God! _No more.”_

He rocked. I held him. “This isn’t about me,” I guessed. “It’s about Charlie, and your friend Daniel, and all the others you’ve lost, isn’t it, Jack? It’s about all the gods and monsters you fight every day, and how tired you are of all that.” 

His head came up. His eyes glittered strangely, glistening with tears. “You can’t _know_ about that, Katie. You _can’t_ have seen that.” 

I sobered, not sure what he was talking about. My confusion must have showed. 

“’Gods and monsters’, you said,” he reminded me. “What have you seen?” 

That wasn’t something I wanted to talk about. My dreams – my _nightmares_ – were not for the faint of heart. I shook my head. 

“ _Tell_ me, Katie!” he demanded, hands on my shoulders, gripping me to make me bend to his will. 

I’d never seen such fear in his eyes before. 

“The night sky,” I said breathlessly, my own heart fluttering nervously in my chest. “Egyptian gods. Lightning that kills. Little gray men with big black eyes… Why, Jack? What is it?” 

For a moment, he didn’t say anything. He let me go and turned to stare at the floor. “It’s what I do every day,” he said quietly. “And all this time, I thought I was alone.” 

I put my hand on his and squeezed. “I was _always_ with you. Just as you were always with _me_.” 

He looked down at my hand, my left hand, with that gold ring on my finger. Gently, he touched it, rubbed it so it would turn against my skin. “You had this since that night,” he guessed. 

“Yes.” I made him look at me again. “That once was all I ever needed, Jack. That, and the books you wrote for me.” I picked up the photo and handed it back to him again. “I got my second chance when you pulled me out of that car. Now, it’s your turn.” 

With trembling fingers, he took the picture and looked at it. “What’s so special about this kid?” he demanded. 

I sighed and looked at the boy’s pleasant face, smiling back from the school photo. “His parents died in a fire at their home,” I began gently. “He’s staying with an aunt now. We met at the hospital, like I told you.” 

“So you felt like you had something in common with him.” 

“Yes. But he’d lost hope. He needed someone to lean on, and I volunteered.” I felt my throat constricting around the words again as I remembered. “But then, when I found out… I can’t be what he needs, Jack. You _can_. You’re an old hand at it.” 

I reached for the blue journal and laid it in his lap. “That’s what this is for. You’re getting a second chance here, old friend. Don’t let it go.” 

“I have a job that keeps me away a lot,” he argued. 

“You kept up with me through these journals,” I reminded him. “You visited me once a year, when you could. It’ll be enough.” 

God, how I loved him! How I knew he was hurting. But he had to hear it all. It would help him decide. 

“His father was an archaeologist and his mother was a linguist. He wants to be a scientist, Jack. He wants to build the most important mouse traps of all, and make the world safe for everyone, and he needs someone to help him get there.” 

Jack said nothing, just staring at the boy’s face. 

“He’s the same age your son would be right now.” I took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. “And his name is Charles. Charles Jackson. _Jack’s son._ What more omen do you need than _that_?” 

He lifted his head and stared at the wall. “All right,” he whispered tightly. “You win, Katie. Like always.” 

I smiled at him as he turned my way. “How much time can you give me right now?” 

“My leave is for four days.” 

“Then let’s live a lifetime, till it’s time for you to go.” 

* * *

Jack came into the General’s office with a Federal Express envelope in his hand. It was still sealed, and he fidgeted with it as he took his seat in the guest chair. 

“What’s on your mind, Colonel?” Hammond asked. 

O’Neill stared at the envelope and sighed. He pulled the zip strip and opened it, then peeked inside. He withdrew a small gold ring and stared at it, turning it in his hand and watching the light play over the smooth, shiny surface. 

“I’m going to need some time off,” he said quietly. “Bereavement.” 

Hammond leaned forward on his desk, taking note of the ring and the other man’s face. “I’m sorry, Colonel O’Neill. Was it someone close to you?” 

It took a moment for the answer to work its way out. “My soulmate.” 

He sighed and slipped the ring onto the little finger of his left hand and looked away, clenching his fist to make sure it didn’t fall off, even though it was a tight fit. 

“Your ex-wife?” 

“No. Nobody you knew.” Jack cleared his throat and faced the general directly. “I’m not sure how much time I’ll need. I have to call and find out when the funeral is, and then I’ll have to go through her things and meet with her lawyer. I’m executor of her estate. She, uh…” 

He swallowed hard. “She had a lot of money, and is leaving it to a boy who lost his parents recently. I need to find out what to do about managing it for him.” 

Hammond was quiet for a moment. “That’s a noble thing to do. She must have been a wonderful person.” 

Jack blinked several times and cleared his throat. “That she was.” He stood up, dropped the envelope in the general’s trash can and sat back down again. “Sir, that brings up a matter I wanted to discuss with you personally.” 

“Go ahead, Colonel.” 

“My job is pretty risky.” He rose and glanced at some of the photos on the wall, strolling around the room nervously. “Not that I’d even _think_ about retiring, you know. I’m needed here, and I know it. What SGC does is important to the whole human race. But every time I go through that Stargate, I take the risk of not coming back.” 

“Would you prefer another assignment?” Hammond’s voice was gentle, understanding. 

“No, sir. I just wanted to ask a favor.” He sat down again and leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “While I’m visiting Katie’s lawyer, I thought I’d set up a contingency plan so that, if anything ever happened to me, there’d be somebody I trust looking out for the kid’s welfare.” 

“Who did you have in mind?” 

“ _You_ , sir.” 

Hammond straightened, a little surprised, but that faded into a warm, humbled gaze. “I’d be honored, Colonel. Just tell me what you need.” 

Jack nodded and braved a brief smile. “I’ll let you know. I’m sure there’ll be papers to sign and all that crap.” 

“Indeed.” Hammond rose and stepped out from behind the desk. He offered his hand in a firm shake. “Any way I can help, just let me know.” 

“Thanks, sir.” 

“May I know the lady’s name, Colonel O’Neill?” 

Jack headed for the door, pausing as his eyes lit on a trio of worn hardback books on the General’s bookshelf nearest the door. He read the titles written in gold leaf down the spine, and the author’s name – _Jill Waite._ Those were some of Hammond’s favorite books, ones he always carried with him. 

With great care, he pulled one off the shelf and carried it back, laying it on the desk. The lump in his throat kept him from saying her name, so he just pointed at it. 

Hammond’s eyes grew round as he glanced between book and man. “I thought you said her name was _Katie_?” 

Pull yourself together, O’Neill, he ordered himself. He straightened and looked the older man in the eye. “It was. Katie Hennessy’s pen name was _Jill Waite_. She was a very special person.” 

Hammond shook his head, sadness creeping into his features. “I’d heard she passed away, but I had _no idea_ you knew her. The world will be diminished now, without her gift.” 

He sighed. “She _really_ understood soldiers, Jack. I’ve never read another author’s work that equals hers. And she never served a day in the military, the press reports say. Uncanny.” 

Jack’s fingers traced the title on the cover, and slowly drew away. “She had an inside source, sir.” He put a hand over his aching heart, then let it drop. 

Meeting Hammond’s eyes, Jack straightened and saluted. “Thanks for the time off. I’ll keep you posted on the details.” 

Hammond returned his salute and watched him walk out the door. _  
_

* * *

There were only a handful of people at the cemetery, Jack noted. One of them was the boy in the photograph, but he waited to introduce himself until the service was over. Charles Jackson eyed him in his dress blues, and held out his hand. 

“It’s an honor to meet you, sir,” he said quietly. 

“Same here,” Jack assured him. “Call me Jack.” 

“Yes, sir.” 

There seemed to be nothing else to say for the moment. Jack spied a red-haired woman watching them, and figured she must be the aunt who had taken Charles to raise. “What do they call you, Charles?” 

“Chaz. I like Chaz.” 

“Good. That’s good. I don’t think I’d have been able to call you Charlie.” 

The boy nodded, apparently understanding. “There weren’t many people here,” he observed, glancing around at the thinning crowd. 

Paolo had been standing nearby, paying his respects, and came up to them. “That’s because this service is just for family and friends. The public memorial will be tomorrow. You can go if you like, but she thought this would be easier on you both.” 

“Always thinking of others. That’s my Katie.” Jack sighed. “Thanks, Paolo. I think I’ll skip the circus.” 

“Me, too.” Chaz stuck his hands into the pockets of his new suit. “I didn’t know who she was, at first. I just thought she was a nice lady. Couldn’t figure why she’d want to meet me.” 

“Common bonds, Chaz. Omens. She was big on those.” Jack turned away, putting his back to the casket and the crew coming to put her body into the ground. He noticed the nurse standing off to one side, an odd look on his face. “You okay, Paolo?” 

The young man shook his head, as if trying to dislodge a thought. “It’s funny. That last night, I thought I heard voices from her room. I thought there was a man in there with her, and I thought, maybe it was – “ 

He stopped himself and shot a wary glance at Jack. Then the hesitance disappeared in light of another memory surfacing behind his eyes. “I went to her room, and there was this great light coming up out of her. It was beautiful, Colonel O’Neill. I think I watched her spirit passing, right before my eyes, and she was beautiful. An angel. _Dios mio!”_

He crossed himself.

Jack saw the tears in the young man’s eyes, and watched him turn away and walk off toward the line of cars that had brought them to the cemetery. He glanced down at Chaz, who looked back at him for some kind of explanation. “She ascended,” Jack said softly, as much to himself as to the boy. “She’s in a better place now.” He reached for the youthful shoulder, turned the boy around and headed toward his aunt and the waiting limousine. 

But as they walked, he glanced off into the trees shading a plot of graves on the far side of the street. Two figures stood in the gloom beneath the branches; one male, one female. He should not have been able to distinguish their features because of the deep shade, but they were glowing with an inner light, smiling at him as he walked with the boy. 

Daniel had company now, someone he could talk to for eternity, trading secrets about Jack O’Neill. Then again, he supposed they might have had better things to discuss than himself. On the scale of important stuff in the universe, he probably wasn’t very high on the list. 

_Except to those two._

Jack smiled. _  
_

FIN

**Author's Note:**

> Written after I watched Daniel's ascension, because I didn't want him to be alone, and neither would Jack.


End file.
